


that orange, it made me so happy

by ac0lyte



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, it says rpf but this is about the characters, not the ccs who portray them!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29407455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ac0lyte/pseuds/ac0lyte
Summary: Fundy remembers a time before his father was dead, before the wars, before everything was so difficult.He remembers the joy of early L'manburg.Title from and inspired by "The Orange" by Wendy Cope.
Relationships: ALL PLATONIC, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 16





	that orange, it made me so happy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks I feel like Fundy's character deserves more attention so I made this! I've been kind of stuck in a writing rut for like the past week and this really helped pull me out of it, so I hope you all enjoy and sorry if it's a little rusty. More to come on my other stuff soon, I promise :] Also I reposted this cause nobody saw it and I kinda wanted people to LUL don't come at me  
> This is strictly about the Dream SMP characters and not the CCs that portray them, if it crosses any of their boundaries it will be taken down immediately.

It was a cloudy day in L’manburg, and the overcast sky didn’t do the scenery on its borders any favors. It was just tree after tree, then a stretch of small sandy beach and water, then more trees. Fundy had been patrolling diligently for two hours now, following the orders of his father. They were on the eve of war, and although the sky was dull and uninteresting, everything around him seemed to quiver in anticipation and excitement for independence.

The first thing to distract Fundy from his patrol duty was a vibrant splash of color, one that hadn’t been there before.

It was the same color as his fur; a striking orange that one rarely saw in L’manburg. It wasn’t on their flag, and none of the buildings incorporated it into their color scheme. It was just Fundy’s color, and, according to his dad, “the color of the fire that burns within our hearts, yearning for freedom”. Or something like that. Fundy had been too busy playing a game with Tommy to pay attention to the speech he’d given that night.

But that barely crossed young Fundy’s mind as he broke from his patrol pattern and approached the object. He pointed his bow at it warily, almost afraid that it was a trick of some sort from the enemy. But as he drew closer, he lowered it, recognizing the object as a regular orange.

His eyes lit up. Fundy hadn’t seen an orange since he was much younger. In fact, the last time he’d eaten one, his mom had still been around. She’d given it to him as a gift, for his help in the garden that day, and they’d shared it and laughed at the juices that dripped off their chins.

He shook the thoughts of Sally from his head and gently picked up the orange, cupping his paws around it like it was a treasure of interminable value. His eyes shone as he looked at it. It was large, and round, and didn’t have a single blemish on it. It was perfect.

Gazing upon the orange, an idea slowly began to take shape in his head. And the more he thought on it, the more wonderful it seemed to him. With careful, precise claws, Fundy ripped the rind of the orange open, trying not to pierce the fruit inside. When he had peeled back the top half, he counted.

Onetwothreefourfivesixseven  _ eight _ orange slices.

Fundy wasn’t the best at math - Dad rarely had time to teach him anymore, so he had to rely on what Tommy and Tubbo told him, which wasn’t the best source - but he could calculate that that was enough orange slices for everyone in L’manburg to have one, plus one extra for him and his father.

Holding the orange carefully, Fundy turned towards L’manburg proper and set off back towards it, grinning from ear to ear.

The buildings of L’manburg were small in number, built surrounding the Camarvan, which had become the unofficial base of operations of L’manburg. Fundy guessed most of his fellow countrymen would be at home; it was only the afternoon, and he hadn’t heard of any battalion training plans. He formulated a strategy in his head of whose houses he would visit and in what order, ending up with a winding mental map that made its way to everyone eventually.

As the burning eternal flame atop the Camarvan came into view, Fundy stopped and saluted it, a custom he’d adopted after seeing his father do it numerous times. Then he turned and walked along the path, gravel crunching underfoot, to Jack Manifold’s home.

Jack Manifold was a cool guy. He was a few years older than Fundy, but they got along, and sometimes he’d help Fundy with the more difficult words in the books Wilbur gave him. He fought valiantly for L’manburg, and really, that was all they could ask for.

Fundy knocked twice at the door of Jack’s home, keeping the orange nestled safely in his other paw.

“Coming!”

After a few moments accompanied by some bumping from within the house, the door swung open, and Jack stood behind it, his hair messy and clothing disheveled. The glasses on his face were askew, and he adjusted them, peering out at Fundy from behind the red and blue lenses.

“Hi, Jack!” Fundy chirped, giving him a once-over. “Did you just wake up?”

“No,” Jack lied. “Been up all morning! Ready to go!” He cleared his throat, glancing behind Fundy nervously. “Is there something happening?”

“Oh, no,” Fundy said, holding the orange up. “I just came to give you a slice of this!” Carefully, he picked a slice out of the orange and held it out to Jack.

Jack looked dubious for a moment, but when he glanced up and saw Fundy’s wide grin and bright eyes, his expression softened. “Aw, mate, this is sweet.” He took it delicately, examining it.

“Have you ever had one? They’re really sweet. I think it might be my favorite fruit,” Fundy chattered. Jack nodded and took a bite, his face scrunching a little.

“Yea, this is lovely,” he lied again.

Fundy, unaware, only smiled wider. “I’m glad you like it!” He tucked the orange back into his side, then stood at attention, giving Jack a salute. “I’ve got to go share it with the others, so I’ll see you at dinner!”

“See you,” Jack returned the salute, shutting the door. If Fundy had stayed a moment longer instead of rushing off to Niki’s house immediately, he would have heard Jack spit out the orange.

Niki’s house was much quainter than the others in L’manburg, a small cottage-like abode with flowers and plants sprouting nearby. She had a small garden in the back filled with herbs and crops, which often supplied many of their communal dinners. She was Fundy’s closest friend, a caring and loyal compatriot who was always there for him when he needed it. They were always put on material-gathering duty, and more often than not would shirk their responsibilities for a while to pick flowers together.

“Niki!” He called through one of her open windows, leaning on the sill outside. “I have a present for you!”

She appeared almost immediately, her uniform dusted lightly with flour. It startled Fundy, and she laughed at his shocked expression, leaning forward.

“Sorry! I was doing some baking,” she explained, gesturing to her messy uniform. “You have a present?”

“Yeah!” Fundy held the orange out to her. “Look what I found!”

Niki took a moment to register what it was, then gasped. “I haven’t seen an orange in a long time!” She looked up at him with a quizzical expression. “Where did you find this?”

Fundy shrugged. “On the border. Only take one slice, though. I’m sharing it with everybody!”

“Aww. That’s sweet of you, Fundy.” Her eyes sparkled as she plucked a slice from the orange, popping it into her mouth. She nodded slowly, a small smile appearing on her face. “It’s just as good as I remembered.”

“I’m glad!” Fundy leaned back from the sill. “I can’t wait to see what you bake up in there.”

“Oh, believe me, you’ll be the first one to know,” Niki laughed. It sounded like bells ringing.

Tubbo and Tommy’s house was the next stop. The two of them were almost always together, and almost always helpful to Fundy. They were only a little older than him, but seemed to know a lot more, often helping train him in battle or teach him about the things he wanted to know. They were fearsome on the battlefield, having developed a fighting strategy built around working in tune with one another, and often defeated Fundy in sparring matches.

Tubbo was already outside, tending to a small chicken coop he had built the other day. As Fundy approached, he glanced up and waved at him. “Hey, Fundy!”

“Hi, Tubbo.” Fundy looked around, noticing the absence of yelling in the area. “Tommy not with you?”

“Nah, I think he’s in the Camarvan with Wilbur.” Tubbo’s eyes looked momentarily troubled, but he shook it off just as quickly. “They’re just talking. Typical Vice President things.” He stood from his kneeling position on the ground, a basket full of eggs in one hand. “What’s up?”

“Oh! I found an orange, and I wanted to bring you two a slice!” Fundy peeled off an orange slice and pressed it gently into Tubbo’s hand.

“An orange?” Tubbo asked, inspecting the fruit. “I’ve never had one of these! I guess there’s a first time for everything, though, right?” He took a bite, and Fundy watched his expression change from indifferent to impressed. “Oh, wow.”

“Right?”

“Yeah! That’s a good fruit if I’ve ever had one.” He walked back toward his house, giving Fundy a light clap on the shoulder as he did. “Thanks, Fundy.”

“Of course.” Fundy gave him a smile and a nod and scurried off, heading for the Camarvan. His last stop.

He slowed as he approached the van, giving it another salute. As he drew closer, keeping what Tubbo had said in mind, he kept his footsteps quiet and strained his ears to hear the conversation inside.

“...don’t know what  _ they’re _ thinking,” a low, but quick voice. That was Tommy.

A pause. Then, “maybe if we take them … in our favor … destroy some things.” A deep, proud voice, with a slightly cynical laugh appended to the end of his sentence. Fundy smiled. That was his father.

He felt slightly guilty spying on their conversation, even if it was just out of curiosity, so he rapped sharply on the door of the Camarvan.

Immediately, discussion inside halted, and a tense silence fell.

“Come in!”

Fundy opened the door, looking meekly in at them. He felt a little bad for interrupting. The table in the center was littered with spread-out maps and plans, with placemarkers of red and green scattered about on the maps. His father and Uncle Tommy were leaning over the table, dressed sharply in their uniforms, looking a little tired. They didn’t look mad at Fundy, though, which was a good sign.

“Fundy!” Wilbur exclaimed, beckoning him forward. When he approached, he threw an arm around his son’s pastel-clad shoulders, pulling him into his side. “We were just wrapping up. What brings you here?” He looked back up at Tommy and gave him a stiff nod, communicating something Fundy didn’t quite understand. Tommy returned the nod, and turned to leave.

“Wait, Tommy,” Fundy shrugged off his father’s hug and stepped toward Tommy, who gave him a curious look. He picked out a slice from the orange and handed it to him. “This is for you.”

Tommy gave it a look, then broke into a small smile, despite the tired tinge to his expression. “Thanks, Fundy,” he said, lifting his palm out to the boy. Fundy grinned and excitedly high-fived him, something Tommy had taught him how to do.

With that, Tommy gave Wilbur another unreadable look, then left the Camarvan, the door swinging shut behind him.

“Patrol go well?” Wilbur asked, beginning to roll up the maps on the table. Fundy joined him, gathering the placemarkers to one side of the table. He stole a few glances at the strategies laid out in bullet-pointed lists, written in his father’s flowing cursive, but he could barely understand any of it.

“Yeah. Nothing to report.” He stood at attention and saluted his father.

Wilbur laughed, reaching across the table and pulling Fundy’s hat off his head. “You don’t always have to salute me, you know.” He ruffled the fur on his son’s head, giving him a smile.

“I know. It’s just kind of fun.” Fundy grinned. His father’s face fell, but before he could launch into a monologue about war and independence and how  _ serious _ all of this was, Fundy held out the orange innocently. “I found this, though! I saved two slices for you.”

Wilbur peered at it with harsh, analytical eyes. “You  _ found _ it?”

“Yeah! It was on the border. Why?”

Wilbur opened his mouth to say something, but when he glanced up at Fundy’s eager expression he shut it, waving a hand through the air. “No reason. I’m happy you thought of me, though. But keep it for yourself! It’s your orange!”

Fundy tilted his head, squinting at his father. “Really? I thought you’d want some too.”

“No, I’m not hungry,” he said, though Fundy didn’t recall him eating breakfast that morning. “It’s yours.”

After a moment’s deliberation, Fundy nodded thoughtfully and smiled. “Thanks, Dad!” He bit directly into what was left of the orange.

The flavor was just as wonderful as it had been when his mother was around. It was tangy, and sparked at his taste buds like nothing else could. It was just the right amount of sweet and sharp, and it tasted distinctly orange.  _ This is my favorite fruit _ , Fundy mused.

His father watched on with a bemused expression, then leaned forward onto the table. “We’ve got a lot of fighting to do,” he remarked, staring out one of the small windows in the van.

Fundy paused his snacking and looked up at his father, following his gaze out the window. L’manburg stretched on out there, the place they were willing to fight for. The one free land in the SMP.  _ Home _ .

“Then fight we shall,” Fundy declared, mimicking his father’s enthusiastic calls to action. It must have worked, because Wilbur looked back at him with bright eyes and laughed, his eyes crinkling in a way that was decidedly Wilbur.

Fundy didn’t know that would be the last good time he would see his father laugh.

“That’s my little champion.”

-

Fundy stood stiffly at the edge of the crater, gazing down into it with hollow eyes. The memory swam hazily in his mind, and he wanted to scream. How could he have been such a naive child? How could he not have seen the warning signs?

L’manburg, now, wasn’t home. L’manburg was a smoking black scorch, a blemish on an otherwise beautiful land. His father had blown it up, then his grandfather. Everyone from the original L’manburg had become twisted and corrupted.  _ Including myself _ , Fundy thought cynically.

He pushed the memory to the back of his mind, into the section of his brain where he kept all the images of his father before awful things happened. Though they should have been nice memories, even thinking about his father’s - no,  _ Wilbur’s _ smile these days made Fundy angry.

He looked down at the object in his paw. A small, irregularly shaped orange that had been resting on the edge of the crater. It was so conspicuously placed that Fundy almost felt like it was taunting him, that it  _ wanted _ him to pick it up and get angry and almost throw it into the crater several times.

Orange, Fundy decided, was an ugly color.

He turned his back on the crater and tossed the orange on the ground carelessly. With a swift motion, he brought one of his boots into the air and then down onto the orange, watching with only faint glee as it stained the stone below.

_ Goodbye, L’manburg. Goodbye, Dad. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading folks!! I hope you enjoyed, & if you did, please consider leaving a comment because they really help motivate me :] don't feel obligated to though!! Have a good day :0


End file.
